They Say We're Strong (But Our Shadows Scream Otherwise)
by I Was NotA Robot
Summary: They say we're strong, and we play along, but our shadows, they say otherwise. He hasn't always had a bad leg. (Newt centered, mentions of suicide)


**This is probably one of my darker fics...I was thinking about what would lead Newt, the glue of the Gladers, to even consider suicidal tendencies. We don't really know Newt before WICKED, but we have gotten some subtle hints concerning what he's done before Thomas arrives, and I really wanted to get this off my chest.**

 **I'm pretty sure this is a one-shot, and maybe not one of my best thought-out stories, but I've gotten somewhat emotionally attached to this story nonetheless.**

 **Please read and review - constructive criticism is always welcome.**

 **\- Ella**

* * *

Newt's chest was hollow.

It wasn't that his heart wouldn't beat. He just couldn't feel it.

The drum of his heartbeat lingered in his memories – not the ones in the Maze, but the _oh-so-far-away ones_ , stored in the very back of his mind, the ones on the tip of his tongue. He remembered the sweat as well, thick, nervous sweat, tension so dense that it would take more than one knife to cut through it.

In the beginning, he had wanted to remember, desperately clinging to each snippet of life with shaky hands. But eventually, his stained fingers tired of clutching, and fell still.

He tried. He tried for his friends. He tried for dignity, he tried for a life of color.

But in the end, solitude had become his only friend.

He remembered darkness, and loneliness. But he didn't mind either. He understood each, and they allowed him to take shelter in their magnitude. He was alone. Nobody was beside him when he decided to kill himself.

* * *

The first time suicide entered his mind, he shook it off with disgust. Suicide was such an ugly word, stating the horror plainly in its simplicity.

The second time, he considered it carefully. With caution, weariness. But eventually, he left it alone, locked in a dark cabinet, to be released at a later time or put away altogether.

The third time, it sunk in. Suicide.

Something he'd once regarded with disdain, but now, an option he welcomed. The Maze was a cruel place. Its creators, even crueler.

Perhaps his pride could survive, one small piece, if he died by his own means _(there's no such thing as a brave ending, not like this)._

They all knew, deep down in their souls, that the Maze wasn't meant to be solved, a truth that chilled him to the bone. A prison full of lies, people made up of their own makeshift identities, masked in insecurity.

For once, he didn't think of the others, his friends. For once, he thought only of himself. What use was it to survive? After all, they were lab rats, fishes in a strong spiraling current towards inevitable death. What difference would it make if he died now?

And then he realized.

None. None at all.

There was no waiting family, no version of heaven waiting at the other side.

None.

So it was time to turn the tables, he supposed. He had said he was strong, hoped it with every beat of his munificent heart, but his shadows said otherwise.

* * *

It was in the Maze. He hoped that no one would find him, his limp body strung from the emerald vines, with his feet dangling inches above the ground. He didn't think he'd be able to bear it if Minho or Ben or any of the other runners saw him – it would be safer for them to assume that he'd been killed, eaten, dragged away with his arms flailing madly and lungs aching from screaming by the beasts that roamed in the labyrinth.

He almost hadn't gone through with it, had hesitated, his fingers twitching to tie the noose and tighten the knot. For one moment, he froze as the seconds passed in shades of gray. But eventually, his heartless chest won out, and he went back to his work.

After all, they were all ash in the end.

It was Minho who found him, feet pounding and panic radiating off him in waves.

* * *

" _Newt! Newt!" he screamed, lungs hoarse. Newt glanced down, eyes glassy. Fingers shaking, he shut his eyes. "Newt! NEWT!" Minho shouted again._

 _Newt jumped, and began to fall._

* * *

Later, when he looked back on it, he realized that the decision hadn't been a result of need for dignity, but weakness. He had been weak, and like a coward, the label clung to him wherever he went, stuck to his tongue like sickening honey, and tormented his mind at night. He could never escape the guilt of what he'd attempted to do. How could he leave them? They were all but children, no stronger than he was, forced to live inside a Maze of their own.

But no one could live – those were the rules. Their cruel makeshift identities were a desperate scramble for normality, a sense of self, and a single name to cling to as the rest of their lives dissolved into the cracks of their fingers, forever lost.

Newt glanced down at his leg, and could feel his throat swelling up, and the tears behind his eyes begin to water.

He forced them away, fingers clenched around each other clawing at his skin.

He had been weak before. But now, now he could be strong. For the others. For Minho. For Alby. For himself.

For the first time in a long time, strength surged through his veins, and Newt leaned back his head and closed his eyes.

 _My name is Newt, and for once in my life, I don't give a shuck. I am strong, goddammit, and I'll get through this, for them, no matter what it takes._

* * *

 _The war is fought, the battle is lost, and the ash falls and turns to stone._

 _The earth will shake, their hearts will break, and we will stand alone._

 _Our reflections are cursed, apocalypse rehearsed, and the end is full of cries._

 _The mirror speaks to me alone, and it's you that I despise._

 _They said we're strong, and we play along, but our shadows, they say otherwise._


End file.
